Disclaimer: I do not own nor do I claim to own any characters or concepts related to Megamind. This is a nonprofit work of fanfiction.
Rated M for sex, so, yeah. Do what you must.
Me, the Night, and You
"Some date!" Roxanne shouted.
An explosion ripped down the hall, scorching the walls and snarling along the ceiling as it chased them. She dove for a door, bursting through into another long, white hallway. Megamind ducked in beside her, and the row of fire blew past them. Roxanne kicked the door shut.
She fell against the wall, breathing so her chest hurt with it.
"Geez," she said. "You take all the girls to supervillain expos?"
He spun the cylinder of his dehydration gun, the baroque-styled finishing flashing as it revolved; then he caught it in place with his palm. Megamind grinned at her. He'd a line of ash trailing from his elongated brow down his cheek to his sharp nose.
"No," he said. He cocked the gun: showing off for the girl, she thought dryly. "Just you."
"Oh, well," Roxanne said, "lucky for me. I'd hate to miss out on this."
"Ready?" He checked behind the blasted door. It groaned on its hinges.
"No," she said, "but let's do it anyway."
"Someone has to," he said, shrugging.
Roxanne grabbed his hand and together they ran back into the sooty remnants of the conflagration. As battle cries went, it wasn't very good, but she laughed. Someone had to.
"Are you sure you know where we're going?" she asked, drawing near. Her right stiletto wobbled dangerously. She hadn't picked these shoes thinking she'd be running for her life not once, but twice in one evening. She hadn't even had the chance to order dessert.
"Yes! The conference room should be right—" He turned, glancing back over his shoulder at a placard pasted high upon the wall. The numbers had melted off. So did his smirk.
"So you don't know where we're going," she concluded.
"I know exactly where we are," he said, rallying, "we're in Hall Bravo, which means—"
"We could always stop to ask for directions," she said. "That guy with the fireballs seemed nice."
"A-ha!" Megamind crowed. He stabbed his gun at a set of double doors further down the hall. "There, see? Right there. I knew where we were."
"You were lucky," she accused, and they burst through the doors and right into what she would have thought of as a trap had the four masked villains within looked any less surprised than herself and her very stupid supergenius boyfriend.
"Oh," said Megamind. "Wrong room. Sorry. We must have gotten the numbers confused. I told you we should ask for directions," he said to Roxanne.
She thought of punching him in the kidney, or where she thought his right kidney would be, if he even had a right kidney or any kidney at all, but one of the villains, a tall woman with a sunburst emblem on her chest, said very loudly,
"Oi! Ain't you Megamind? The one what reformed?" She said this as if the word came with quotation marks attached, fresh out of the dictionary.
"Reformed!" he scoffed. "Ha! Ha ha! That's, that's ridiculous. I don't know where you're getting your information, but it's clearly wrong."
"Oh, no," the sunburst villain said, "I think it's right. 'Cause that's Miss Roxanne Ritchi and she don't look too bad about holding your hand."
"We could've gone to Red Lobster!" Roxanne hissed at him.
"I hate seafood!" he hissed back. "Insects of the sea! With their creepy bug eyes and their little legs. And anyway, I promised Minion—"
"What Minion doesn't know can't hurt him," Roxanne snapped.
"Oi!" shouted Sunburst. "Get a room, you pigs of justice!"
"Pigs of what?" said Megamind. He looked down at himself.
"Good idea," Roxanne said, pulling hard on his hand. "We'll just leave you guys with your very important, super-evil work, and find another—"
Sunburst burst. White balls of magnesium fire popped off her blazing skin, and two of the other villains dove beneath the magnificent polished mahogany desk that stood as centerpiece of the room. The third closed her eyes and leaned back against the wall. Roxanne supposed if your superpower was bursting into white-hot, spitting flame, it didn't really matter if you advertised it on your chest.
She fell back from the room with Megamind at her side, and for a moment they stood divided, Megamind tugging left back the way they'd come and Roxanne pulling right, then Megamind turned about and ran with her.
"I could have had a seafood platter!" she shouted at him.
"We both agreed to a more formal event in honor of our situacion!" he shouted back. "I thought you liked dressing up!"
"I do!" she cried. Her heel trembled. "But I like not getting shot at more!"
"Well, how was I supposed to know they'd hold the expo at the same convention center as last year?" he reasoned.
A ball of white-blue fire cracked the wall a foot behind them; it shot off sparks like rainbows. Roxanne stumbled against him, his shoulder bony at her breast.
"They have!" she said in his ear. "A mailing list!"
"I! Don't check! My e-mail!"
They turned together down another hallway, one which opened up onto the glittering lobby. Roxanne sighed, relief blossoming warm in her chest; or was that just a stitch? Then the stiletto snapped off her shoe. She fell, stumbling on her toes, then smashing her knee on the carpet. Megamind dropped with her, his hand siezing tightly about her own.
"Roxanne! Are you all right?" He ghosted his hand down her face, her shoulder, her curving back. He clutched her hand still, hard so her knuckles ached. "Where are you hurt? Did she—"
She struggled up. "I'm fine. I'm fine! It's just my shoe."
"Oh," he breathed, and he stroked her cheek. "Thank God. I'm sorry. We should have just gone to Red Lobster."
"It's a little late for that," she said. She took his offered hand.
Sunburst exploded around the corner, and Megamind grabbed for his dehydration gun and fell on top of Roxanne.
"What are you doing!" she yelled. She pressed her hands against his chest. His shirt was sleek beneath her hands, the material drawn tight over his hard breastbone.
"Don't worry," he shouted over the snap and crackle of fire popping. "My skin is much thicker than yours, and my bones are far denser. This hardly even hurts! Oh," he gasped, "it burns!" He fired twice over his shoulder and missed both times.
"How do you walk?" she asked, diverted. She felt ribs beneath her palms, but the breastbone from which they diverged was wide, almost like a shield.
He managed a smirk. A fireball burst overhead, showering sparks and ghostly cinders on them.
"Like I talk," he said. "Badly."
"You might want to rephrase that," Roxanne told him.
"Show your faces, pigs!" Sunburst snarled through the smoke filling the concourse.
Megamind pushed off Roxanne and rolled onto his feet. His gun flashed, the blue of the dehydration chamber a beacon, then the smoke enveloped him.
Roxanne kicked off her shoes. She liked these shoes, too, but there was no sense in crying over broken Jimmy Choo knock-offs, even if they were a Christmas gift from her mother and also happened to be the sexiest pair of shoes she owned: they strengthened the calves, they smoothed her arches, and she'd put them on fantasizing of talking Megamind into stripping them off her. Roxanne kicked the broken one off with more violence than necessary.
Light flashed in the smoke: blue light, then a fiery snap shot in answer. Roxanne cast about for a weapon, but there was nothing left to her but the balcony railing looking out over the lobby, and that was bolted to the floor. She looked at her stilettos, the one snapped, the other whole. She bet Rambo could take a supervillain out with a stiletto.
You're not Rambo, she thought; but she grabbed her heels up anyway. Like hell she intended to sit around while her stupid, brilliant, superheroic née supervillainous boyfriend got his far denser skull kicked in. She'd survived worse. She'd survive this.
Roxanne dove into the smoke.
All told it went better than expected. She got to bust out her half-nelson, and Megamind only missed twice more.
The police showed at half past eight to take statements: no, they hadn't know there was a supervillain exposition going on at Metro City Hotel; no, they hadn't instigated the ensuing fight; yes, they were just out for dinner. At a brisk eleven o'clock, Roxanne gathered up her broken shoes and her bag, and left the station with Megamind.
He smelled of smoke and smoldering fires, and in the small space of the car the smell of him filled the air. As he drove, Roxanne angled away to sniff at her collar: yup, smoke. She'd a small hole burnt through the collar and three more burnt through her skirt. So much for dressing up for the evening. She thought wistfully of the seafood platter as Metro City, glimmering and austere, slid past the window.
He parked the invisible car, thankfully visible, outside her apartment.
"I'm sorry about tonight," he said, his face turned down to the wheel. He peeked sidelong up at her, his lashes low over his eyes. "I know it wasn't what you wanted—"
She covered his hand on the stick shift, or whatever the invisible car's equivalent was called. His hand shifted beneath hers, the long, hard bones moving. She looked down to their hands. Lightly, she stroked her thumb down the crease between his index finger and his thumb. Megamind swallowed.
"Do you want to come up for some coffee?" she asked.
"I'd love to," he said. He met her gaze. Her stomach fluttered. "Yes," he said. "Thank you."
Roxanne smiled and popped the door. The sidewalk was cold against her toes and damp with the evening rain. She didn't mind. She flexed her toes and slung her shoes over her shoulder, and feeling a little like Rambo, she led him up to her loft.
Megamind took his coffee sweet, which mostly entailed pouring half the sugar bowl into the mug. Roxanne carried their mugs out of the kitchenette. She paused at the door.
He sat on the couch, a coffee table book spread across his thighs, and her heart shivered at the sight of him. He'd worn a suit, but lost the jacket in the fray, and his button-up was marred with scorch marks and small holes. Buried in the throw rug, his toes showed, bare and knobby and very long. He'd washed the ash from his face, but a small dark tongue still showed on his neck.
The coffee mugs were hot in her hands. Her fingertips itched, warmed. She roused.
Roxanne perched beside him on the couch. She passed him his mug across her arm, and his fingers brushed hers. So near, how could she resist? She kissed him softly on the cheek and said, "Happy three month anniversary."
"Happy anniversary," he echoed. His smile was shy, his eyes dark, and she didn't know how it could still be like this between them: soft and new, so wondering.
Roxanne cleared her throat. She hoisted her mug as if it were a champagne flute, light in her fingers.
"To exciting anniversaries," she said.
"To not dying horribly," he said.
They clicked their mugs together and drank. Megamind sighed happily and sank low on the couch. If she'd known sugar was his weakness, she'd have plied him with donuts and bear claws until he'd vowed never to evil again. But it worked out in the end, she reflected as she settled against his shoulder.
Roxanne wriggled nearer. She studied his jaw, the narrow line, the sharp corner. Light shaded the tips of his ears a pink bordering translucence. She wondered what he'd do if she bit the tip of his ear. That was something she hadn't known, either: that she could be sitting on her couch with Megamind's bony thigh firm against her own, and instead of calling the cops or smashing her glass coffee table (birthday gift from Dad, survived two moves and a spilled fondue pot) over his head, she'd think of running her tongue up his neck. Well, that was life.
She touched his throat where the soot showed dark on his skin.
"Earlier," she said, "when you said your skin was thicker. What did you mean?"
He knitted his lean fingers together about his mug. "Well," he said, "without going into too much dry detail, my genetic structure is such that my skin is rather tougher than your delicate human flesh."
She pinched his jaw for that and he leaned away, flapping his hand at her.
"So that hurt," she said. "You felt that."
"I said it was tougher," he countered, rubbing his jaw, "not insensible."
"You can feel this, too?" She stroked her finger down his jaw, her nail scraping his skin.
"Yes, of course," he said, but he didn't shiver or turn away from her finger, light on his chin.
Roxanne straightened, sitting up from the back of the couch. She tipped her head. "When we kiss, how does that make you feel?"
He frowned. "Well, that's a bit personal."
She pinched his chin between finger and thumb and drew him to her. Roxanne kissed him once, long and sweet, till warmth pooled in her belly and her toes curled against it.
Megamind sighed into her mouth.
She leaned back, satisfied, and said, "So? How do you feel?"
His lashes were dark on his cheeks, then he opened his eyes. He smiled at her, that small, content smile that made her heart twist around and around in knots.
"Happy," he said. His smile softened. "Peaceful."
"Okay, I give up," Roxanne said. She threw her hands out. "What do I have to do to turn you on?"
Megamind sneezed into his coffee. He set the mug down, nearly slopping it in his lap. Coffee beaded his goatee, and Roxanne smoothed the drops away in her palm.
"I'm not sure I, uh, understand the question," he said. "Could you repeat that?"
"Let me help," she said, and she threw her leg across his and rising, straddled him.
Megamind, his eyes wide, fluttered his bony hands at her hips. His eyes darted; he searched her face.
"I like you," she said. "I like you a lot. I want to be with you. You know, intimately. Sexually," she added, if he needed clarification, and maybe he did.
He purpled, the tips of his ears darkening from pink to a delicate shade of violet.
Very deliberately she set one hand on his right breast and the other on his left, and she took his shirt's lapels in her fingers. His chest spread smooth and wide beneath her hands.
"Just tell me," she said. "If there's something I can do for you— If there's anything I can do for you. I know that we might not be compatible, sexually, but I still..." She stroked the lapels and shrugged, almost angrily. "I still want this."
She looked at him. He met her eyes. His hands were light on her hips, his fingers long and firm on the deep swell of her buttocks.
"I still want you," she said.
He swallowed. His eyes fell to her nose, her lips, her throat.
"Roxanne," he said.
She wanted to kiss him, to sink into his hands and nip along his jaw and hear him sigh her name into her ear, to feel the heat of his breath behind her ear. She tightened her hands in his shirt lapels.
She said, "But if you don't want this—"
"I do," he said. His fingers flexed on her hips, digging in. "Very, very much."
Her heart expanded; his words filled it.
"It's not," he said, then broke off.
He frowned, his eyes downcast. Roxanne slid her hands up to rest upon his shoulders. She waited, listening to her heartbeat, feeling his shoulders rise and fall as he breathed.
Hesitantly, he said, "I had what you might call a confused adolescence. It wasn't until I had entered young adulthood that I understood my libido—" He said this leebeedoo, but Roxanne didn't laugh.
He lapsed again. She stroked her thumb down his throat and made an encouraging, please go on noise. Megamind shifted beneath her, his thighs rising against her. She slid more fully onto his lap, and the warmth in her belly deepened.
"My desires," he said, haltingly, "aren't— my turn ons aren't the same as another man's. A human man's," he corrected.
He rubbed his thumb against her hip. Megamind darted a look at her through his lashes.
"I've found," he said, "intellectual discourse most directly stimulating."
"Wait," she said. She settled back on his thighs. "Your turn on is nerd talk?"
"And you," he said shyly, and the emotional sincerity of it, the shameless cliche, hit her like a chair to the back of her head.
"After all," he said, "you're the smartest person I know."
As seductive techniques went, that was a pretty good one. She melted a little against him.
"That's probably the sexiest thing anyone's ever said to me," she said.
"I like your big butt, too," he offered. He slid his hands down her hips, cupping her so-described big butt in his long fingers.
"I like it, too," she said dryly, and she did. She liked the way they fit together, too: her thick thighs spread over his lean legs, her ample backside planted in his thin lap, her breasts to his flat chest.
She wiggled, slipping down his thighs. His fingertips bit into her upper thighs. His lashes drooped over his eyes, lidding. The sight of his own small pleasure amplified her own, like a stone dropped into rippling water. He stroked her hipbone.
"Just being near you is stimulating," he said.
"Then—" She cupped his jaw, her hands framing his face. "Wait. Why don't you ever?"
His eyes skittered down again. The pink in his ears deepened further still to an evening purple.
"Tragically," he said, trying for a light note but falling flat, "my, ah, early career choices left little room for experimentation. You know how it is. Work, work, work, all the time."
"You're a virgin," she said.
He winced. "Is that a bad thing?"
"No," she said, and she petted his jaw, his long, elegant throat. "No, it's fine. It's perfectly fine. There is nothing," she said, and she punctuated this with a smacking kiss, "wrong with being a virgin."
He kissed her back, practice giving him grace. His kiss was warm and the suggestion of tongue a sweet epilogue.
Roxanne trailed light kisses along his cheek. "I thought," she whispered, "maybe you didn't want me."
His hands tightened on her hips, and he turned, nuzzling her ear. His breath swept hot along her jaw. He said, "You thought wrong, Miss Ritchi."
She laughed and kissed him again, and it was easier after that to wind her arms about his shoulders and draw him near, to nip at his lips and feel his sigh on her tongue, to stroke her fingers around his ear.
He made a noise when her thumb brushed his ear, a soft noise in his throat.
"Really?" Roxanne said. "Your ears?"
"How should I know?" he defended. "No one's ever done that to me before."
"No one, huh," she said.
She ran her finger along the outside of his ear, tracing the narrow shape of it. His breath caught. He hitched his hands lower on her backside, holding her close.
"So," she said, "is this the kind of intellectual discourse you meant?" Then she rose up from his lap and bit his earlobe. She flicked her tongue against it, stroking, and drew back, dragging the lobe free of her teeth.
Megamind went very still beneath her. He breathed out, deep and helpless, and then his gaze flickered up and he said, in that low voice, "You make a persuasive argument."
"Yeah," she said, "I do that. It's kind of my thing. Do I need to recite the times table to get you to take your shirt off?"
"No," he said. He smiled, his eyes crinkling. "Just you'll do."
"Wow," she said, "that was a good line."
"Oh, it's no line, Miss Ritchi," he said. "It's a promise."
She smoothed her hands down his front, plucking at each small button in turn.
"Then how about you take it off?" she murmured.
"Maybe I will," he breathed.
He did shuck it then, fumbling with the buttons as Roxanne licked his ears, the right and then the left; she smiled at the faces he made, his little hitching breaths. His shirt parted and she slid her hands beneath it, tracing his bared chest. No nipples and no hair, just sleek skin over lean muscle and fat.
Megamind plucked at her dress, his finger fitted to the small, singed hole burnt through the collar. His brows crooked, teasing.
"Fair is fair?" he suggested.
Roxanne laughed and scooched back to make room. Hands at her waist, the cloth rucked between her fingers, she looked at him, splayed back against her couch, his shirt opened over his chest. His knees shifted beneath her, hard points jabbing into her butt; well-padded though she was in that department, it still hurt.
"I have a better idea," she said.
Her bed was small, built for one and not for two, but they fit somehow, like puzzle pieces set together.
Roxanne shed her dress; it slithered, badly bruised, to rest by his trousers on the floor. She hesitated a moment, then she fiddled with her bra, unhooking it at her back. Near but not beside her, Megamind shucked his own clothes and ducked beneath the sheets.
She crossed her arms over her breasts and slipped in beside him. Their knees bumped; their legs tangled. He turned to face her. His shoulders were drawn, his eyes huge, and there was something vulnerable in the way his jaw worked.
"What do we do now?" he whispered.
Roxanne reached for his face. Very lightly she skimmed her fingertips down his brow, tracing the curve of bone, the sharp angles, the hollows. He covered her wrist, his thumb at her pulse. She smiled at him in the dark.
"At this point," she said, "it's usually a good idea to study." She kissed the corner of his mouth, lingering there. "Hands-on," she murmured.
He was still a moment as they kissed, then he reached for her. His palm was rough on her breast, his fingers slim but steady. Her nipple pricked, tightening, and he traced the swell of her breast with his thumb.
"Good move," Roxanne said. She slid her leg higher between his. "Now it's my turn."
She kissed him again and his lips parted, just so. The tip of his tongue was rounded, and she drew on that as she pressed into his hand. Happy, he'd said; peaceful: and it was peaceful, she thought, lying together like this in the dark room, learning the shape of each other by hand.
The scent of smoke and fire laid over sweat clung to his skin as it clung to hers. She thought of him running back into the smoke, his dehydration gun drawn, and she thought of balancing that stiletto between her fingers as she ran back, too; and she thought of her hand covering his in the car as they leaned toward each other.
Roxanne ran her fingers down his sides, felt him shiver as she traced the blunt edge of his hip, and breathed. He kissed her then, his goatee scratching her chin, his thin lips softened, and Roxanne smiled into his kiss, then laughed.
He withdrew, frowning. His brow pinched.
"What? What's so funny?"
"Nothing," she said. She stroked his ear, following the intricate, twisting ridges and watching as his eyes darkened. Then she kissed his nose, her lips pursed about the pointed tip. "I'm just happy. That's all."
"I'm baring my soul here," he grumbled, "and you're laughing."
"I'm baring my chest," she noted.
He flexed his hand at her breast, his fingers slipping down her skin. She caught her breath.
"Yes," he said, "I noticed that."
His short nails scraped over her nipple and Roxanne shivered. He smiled wickedly, his brow heavy over his eyes.
"You like that, do you?"
"I don't know, Mister Supergenius," she said. "You tell me."
"Oh, you don't like it, Miss Nosy Reporter," he informed her, pleased with himself. "You love it."
He pinched her nipple, and a little thrill ran through her, zinging between her legs. She tightened her thighs together, already slicking.
"You're on my turf now, Megamind," she said. She dug her nail into his earlobe; his pupils contracted.
He managed to dredge some measure of sarcasm up from his throat. "Oh, heavens," he said, rounding his eyes, "whatever will you do to me?"
"I'll figure something out," she said.
She pressed into his hands, his clever fingers, and finally bent to lick a slick line up his throat. He'd such a long, supple neck: the tendons tensed beneath her tongue; his Adam's apple rolled as he swallowed. She nipped at it.
"That," he gasped, "is foul play," then he rose against her, his hands at her breast, her belly, her hips.
Roxanne laughed again; she tipped her head back, her hair fanning out about her ears. She slipped her knee high between his legs and found him hardening. Deliberately, she rocked her knee against him.
Megamind's face tightened. His ears were very dark, a deep purple verging on a deeper blue. She wound her arm about his shoulder.
"I don't see a red card," she said.
"Oh, I'll give you a red card," he promised. He sneered, his lips twisting. How far she'd fallen that she'd find that look endearing rather than annoying.
Roxanne slicked her thigh against his penis, long and very slender and curved like a bow. She slithered nearer and pressed him irresistibly downward, pinning him in the sheets with her hips heavy against his. His hardened penis brushed her belly. He stared up at her as if struck, his chest heaving, his eyes blown wide.
"First you have to catch me," she murmured.
He licked his lips. His tongue flicked pink over his skin, powder blue. "How do you?" He looked down, away from her face.
She bent to kiss him, drawing on his pink tongue. He bared his teeth. At her hips, his hands tightened.
"Follow my lead," she said. She smiled. "It's not that hard."
He laughed, then she took him in hand and held him still as she slid down. His face stilled; for a moment he did not breathe. Roxanne held her own breath. Her heart skipped a beat in her throat. He was very, very long and not terribly thick, and the difference pulled at her in ways she hadn't expected. She sank carefully onto him, twinging now, then relaxing.
"I read about this once," Megamind said. His throat worked. He'd tightened his jaw. "In a book. Minion gave it to me. He said it was educational, and it was, but I didn't realize—" His eyes flicked down her, from her mouth to her throat, then lower still.
"It's okay," she said.
She kissed him softly. His goatee scratched her lip, then he turned his head and touched his tongue to her teeth. Roxanne drew back. She smiled.
"It's just me," she said. "And you." She cradled his jaw, rubbing the tension out of the muscle stark in his cheek. "Just us."
"Just us," he said. He leaned into her hand.
Roxanne rolled her hips gently against him, feeling her way slowly to an easy, pleasing rhythm. After a moment, Megamind shifted beneath her, and he too began to move, in small and studied increments which then bled into certain strokes. Pleasure bubbled in her belly. She tightened her knees about his thighs.
Megamind palmed the small of her back, steadying her.
"Like this?" he asked her.
"Like that," she said.